


It's Not The End Of Days (It's Just The Bump And Grind)

by Cuthwyn, Kitcath



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuthwyn/pseuds/Cuthwyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitcath/pseuds/Kitcath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Tim goes undercover in a Burlesque club and finds the Outlaws on the same job.</p><p>OR</p><p>That Burlesque AU that no one wanted but we wrote anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Heart Feels Heavy (My Feet Feel Light)

Timothy Drake was no stranger to secrets and lies. Lies were bread and butter to a Drake and secrets were such a part of being a Wayne that they never stopped to think about trust and whether those secrets actually needed to be kept. They never stopped to think that the secrets could cause more damage than the truth.

 

Tim only had so much patience. There were only so many times he could have someone he trusted, a member of his family treat his faith as dispensable, treat him as an afterthought before he could not put his family first. His pride had taken a beating and his trust had been shattered; any sane person would have given up on the family years ago. Everyone had a limit, however and everyone had to draw a line somewhere. Had to choose their sanity and self worth. That Dick had chosen to fake his own death before revealing the lie he and Bruce had played out for over a year was enough for Tim.

 

He'd argued with Bruce over it all, but the man had been unyielding and utterly unapologetic. He failed to see the problem, insisted it was necessary that he had remained unaware. Could not see why Tim was upset. He was done.

 

 "I'd like to make a withdrawal, please." Tim kept his voice cool and calm as he pushed the withdrawal slip to the cashier.

 

 The girls eyes widened at the amount before she nodded curtly. "Of course Mr Wayne. It will just take a moment." She bustled into the back, no doubt to clear the transaction and Tim would have been content with the wait if not for the voice behind him.

 

"What are you doing here Drake?" Damian never failed to hit the perfect mix of condescension and hatred when he spoke to Tim  

 

Gritting his teeth Tim shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder and flicked a look at Damian over his shoulder. "I could ask you the same question brat. Run along back home."

 

The cashier shot a glance at Damian as she returned with a large wad of cash and a slip for Tim to sign. "Thank you for your business Mr Wayne."

 

"Have a nice day." Tim replied, bitterly, relieved that it would be the last time he had to use that name.

 

"Why do you need that much money, Drake?" Damian screwed his face up as Tim stuffed it into his bag and shot him an accusing glare. Tim wished he could pretend that his brother was showing some concern for him, but no doubt the brat thought he was trying to run with his inheritance.

 

"I have not taken a dime more than what Bruce owes me." Tim answered, refusing to be drawn into an argument.

 

"Owes you? Drake I know you think you are making sense but you're really not." Damian's brow furrowed as he hurried after the young man who had turned tail and was now heading for the exit.

 

Tim thrust a time sheet into Damian's hand without bothering to pause. "Take this to B. It states the hours I have worked for Wayne Industries and proves that I have merely taken what is owed to me from the account. I finished out the week. He has the weekend to think up a PR story to feed the press. I'm sure that will be enough time. He has plenty of practise."

 

Lifting his eyes Damian shook his head in disappointment. "I am correct aren't I? You are running away. Just like Todd." Tim turned to look at his youngest brother and caught, underneath the usual mask of condescension, a flare of bewildered hurt. Whether he realised it or not, DamIan would miss him.

 

He sighed. "I'm not running away." He insisted. People ran from problems, after all, and problems could be solved. Tim simply couldn't see the point in remaining somewhere he would never be trusted or valued.  "I have a case to work." He added with haste. Taking pity and giving an excuse he knew the other would understand.

 

Excuse or not, Damian was not fooled. "Then tell me where you are going Drake!" He demanded, stringent and woefully unsubtle.

 

"Why?" Tim snapped. "No one else in the poor excuse for a family seems to think it important to keep others informed." He dug through his pocket and retrieved the car keys and threw them at his brother. "Give those to Bruce too. I'm done." He ignored the bewildered stare he could feel on his back until he turned the corner and passed from sight as he rushed to the bus station. For the first time he had no aim and nothing but the funds in his bag to see him through. No plan beyond taking the first bus he saw to the first town. No plan beyond getting the hell out of Gotham. 

 

Plans could wait; for the first time in his life, Tim had no one to please but himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The mark was running a ponzi scheme out of a shitty club in LA. Jason had argued against taking the job, but Roy had a friend who had a kid who had lost their collage fund to the asshole and nothing was happening officially. The bastard was going to get away scot free without any repercussions and Roy had a point. If nothing else they were good at revenge.

 

The consequences of being good at revenge, however, had lead them to working out of a shitty club in LA, crashing in one of Dick's old apartments, and drawing nothing but blanks on the case. The mark had a penchant for pretty dancers, but case or not, Jason was damned if he was getting on that stage. No matter what points Roy thought he was making.

 

"I'd be a fucking terrible dancer, Jay. And we put Kori on the stage and we'd never get her off." Roy had his head buried in Dick's defunct oven. He was probably fixing it, but knowing Harper that was a fair to equal chance it'd end up becoming part of the apartments defences and they'd end up living on takeout. More takeout, it's not like Jason ever got the chance to cook.

 

"You do not usually have problems getting me off." Kori pointed out, stretched out in front of the TV, painting her nails. "Does the stage limit your skills?"

 

"You can't fucking have sex on stage Kori." Jason muttered." You just dance."

 

"And no one touches you?" Kori pouted, casting a look over her shoulder. "That sounds boring. And rather pointless. I would rather not be stared at and not touched." She turned back to her nails. "Jason should be looked at. He is talented at making people want to touch him."

 

"Thanks," Jason replied dryly, flicking through the pictures they'd gathered of the mark. They knew where he lived, who he fucked and when he went out, but they couldn't get close enough to find out his current scheme. "but I'll pass."

 

"We do need someone on that stage, Jaybird." Roy pointed out. "He dates the girls. Not the barman, not the waitresses and he doesn't even bother to look at the doorman. We want to get close to him we need someone up on that stage." There was a muffled bang and a curse.

 

"Alright there, Harper?" Jason raised his eyes in time to see Roy flip him off. "I'll get up there if I have to. But we have access to backstage, Kori serves him every time he comes in. I don't want to get up there. Selling sex isn't exactly my thing." He left the 'anymore' off but knew Roy heard it anyway. "We'll rethink if we have to, but we still have time."

 

 

 


	2. Welcome to Burlesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim arrives in LA.

The hotel was far from the worst one he'd ever slept in. The hostel in Bangkok, for example, had been several orders of magnitude worse. This was cheap, but it was at least passably clean and thus far he hadn't seen a single cockroach. It even came with it's own postcard.  There wasn't much else to the room; a bed that creaked horrifically and would no doubt upset the neighbours whenever he had a nightmare, a desk that was obviously intended to double as a dining table, a chest of drawers, one of which did not open, and a wardrobe. The bathroom had four cracked tiles, and a patch of mould in the corner that looked as if it would grow with each shower, and the hot tap for the sink didn't work. There was nowhere really to personalise the room, but he didn't have much to personalise it with. He didn't really have much to unpack at all; he'd brought a couple of changes of clothes, a photo of the family last Christmas - complete with Jason hovering just out of Bruce's reach, the only Christmas they had ever spent all together - and the cash he had taken out for finishing the week. He left a fifty in his wallet and stored the rest around the room; a couple of hundred under the corner of the mattress, another taped to the back of the cistern, some under the loose floorboard in the corner of the room. He sat at the desk, pen poised over the postcard, but when it came down to it he had nothing to say to anyone he could send it to. It may have been petty, it was definitely beneath him, but he couldn't bring himself to write to them when he was certain they would not have done the same for him. He pushed the postcard away from him, stood and made his way to the door, casting a last glance around the room.

 

It wasn't much, but for now it was home.

 

* * *

 

 

LA sucked. He'd been a few times while with the Titan's and liked it well enough, but clearly the city had been made by his company. The people were rude, entitled and generally poor excuses for human beings. Coming from someone who had dedicated his life to the worst areas of a city renowned for it's appalling and occasionally evil people it was a scathing conclusion. He needed a job, one that he did not to trade on the Wayne name to gain, but without using an identity that had been provided by Bruce, Tim had nothing. No CV, no history and no name. Undercover work, it turned out, was infinitely easier when you had billions at your disposal.

 

His feet hurt; traipsing around a city on foot was rather more wearing than the adrenaline of flying through the rooftops in pursuit. He was down to his last $20 and he felt like he'd been searching for a job for months, not the week and a half it had taken to discover that he really wasn't worth much without Bruce's name and money after all. 

 

A commotion down a side alley caught his attention and a tall leggy woman disappeared through a fire escape and into a building. A sign shone into the darkness of the alley. "Burlesque". The sign was a glitzy as the woman's outfit had been and if nothing else it looked like somewhere interesting to rest his feet before heading back for another cheap and lonely night in front of the hotel TV. Maybe if he was lucky a miracle would have occurred and it would pick up more than two channels. He could have fixed it easily, but it turned out that parts were surprisingly expensive and for the first time in his life Tim was actually starting to worry about where his food would come from. He had a week left on his rent before he had to start worrying about the roof over his head. It was a new and rather bewildering feeling. 

 

Under the sign was a door, plain and without decoration and a stairway that lead down into a basement. Muffled music floated up the stairs, obviously live rather than recorded and in keeping with the décor that looked as if it hadn't changed since the building had been a speak-easy in the '20s. As he walked, soft bodies were distorted through the art deco glass running floor to ceiling and separating the stairway from the room it descended into. 

 

"Welcome to Burlesque." A rough voice came from the booth on the left, the man not even looking up from whatever he was tinkering with below the counter. Given the view through the window Tim could only hope that the tinkering was mechanical and not anything that would scar him should he risk a glance. "The best view on Sunset Strip. Without" The redhead added. "any windows. $20"

 

Twenty dollars was all he had left. There was no job on the horizon, he hadn't eaten yet that day, and yet. He glanced through the doorway. "What is this place? A Strip Club?"

 

The redhead hissed, "I should wash your mouth out with Jagermeister!" He clicked his fingers, still too obviously engrossed in whatever had covered his hand in oil to look up. "I have a club to fill.

 

Tim hesitated, very aware that he'd never really gone without the option of food, even if he knew he could survive without it. He knew better, logic dictated he pocket his money and take to the streets again tomorrow in search of another job. He needed the $20 to print CV's.

 

Logic could take a back burner for once. Logic had failed to serve him well until this point. He handed over his last twenty and moved into the club.

 

He walked through; velvet booths partially concealed behind equally scarlet curtains. Tables, filled close to the stage but sitting empty further back. The stage itself had seen better days; functional, but the curtain had darns where it had ripped and been hastily repaired rather then replaced. There were scuff marks where the stage itself had not been polished. He perched on a bar stool, leaning his elbows back on the bar itself, fascinated by the movement on stage. He'd had training from the some best experts in the world. If you counted Grayson he'd had training from some of the most flexible too, but he didn't think he could do what the people on that stage could do.

 

"What can I get you?" Tim jumped, annoyed with himself for becoming enthralled enough to miss someone creeping up on him, even if it was only someone as harmless as a bar tender. Not that they'd been creeping, but growing up in Gotham removed the usual parameters for social interaction every other person on the planet took for granted.

 

He shrugged, not taking his eyes off the stage. "Nothing, unless you're buying."

 

"Welcome to LA." The bartender sounded amused rather than put out at Tim's fascination. Though Tim imagined the bartenders were rather used to being overlooked compared to the beauty on stage. A shot glass slid across the bar to his elbow and Tim turned to pick it up. 

 

He knocked the drink back, expecting the free shot to taste cheaper than it had and looked up, taking in the well fitted waistcoat, toned arms and frankly rather attractive shoulders before glancing up at the bartenders face to see his brother, blinking, clearly as surprised to see Tim as he was to see him. "Jason?"

 

"Tim?" Jason poured them each another shot, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

 

Tim shrugged, glanced down at the bar then muttered, "Change of scenery, change of career." He turned back to the stage as the number ended to rousing applause."They're fantastic. I don't think I've ever seen anyone move quite like that." He pursed his lips, he hadn't seem anyone move like that, but in all honesty if random untrained girls could move like that, how hard could it be? He did still need a job. "How do I get up there?"

 

"As a dancer?" Jason scowled and flicked his eyes around the room, taking in the regulars, chatting politely with the waitresses but never once looking at their faces and the tourists who always thought they had a right to get handsy with the entertainment. "You don't." He tossed a bar towel over his shoulder and leant into Tim's space. "What do you want to get up there for anyway, Timmy? Not really your style."

 

"Don't call me that." Tim snapped. "Maybe I like that it's not exactly my style. Perhaps I'm tired of my style and would like to try something new. Perhaps I want to try something that _I_ will enjoy rather than something I did out of obligation and concern for others. I know can do it." Tim insisted, setting his jaw.

 

"Never said you couldn't." Jason pointed out, raising an eyebrow at the outpouring of information that Tim had to know he was handing over far too easily. "Said you shouldn't."

 

Tim flicked the shot glass back across the bar and stood. "I need the job, Jason. I'll get it with or without your help." He caught sight of Kori, flirting as she handed out a tray of cocktails and glanced back at the door, realisation dawning. "If you won't help I could always go and ask Harper." He taunted. "That was him in the doorway, as observant as ever, wasn't?"

 

Jason sighed. "Fine." He pointed to a door to the side of the stage, half hidden behind a potted orange tree. "Through there, ask for Tess." He handed over a business card and shook his head. "You might as well use my name."

 

Tim smiled, grateful and unafraid of showing it. "Thank you." He glanced down at the card and raised his eyebrows, surprised at the lack of discretion. "You're using your own names?"

 

Jason shrugged as he began wiping down the bar, tossing their shot glasses toward the sink and somehow managing not to smash them "Not like we can hide Kori, is it? Tess knows who we are. She just doesn't care."

 

Tim nodded, filing that away. He turned, but paused before leaving. "I'm not using my name at the moment." He said quietly. 

 

"Its fine." Jason shrugged, it was not as if any of them were strangers to using a different identity. "What're we calling you?"

 

"Tim still." Too much of a chance that he wouldn't answer to anything else until it was too late. He was hardly at the top of his game. His eyes flicked around the room, focusing on the bourbon. "Tim Bean."

 

"Really? Tim Bean." Jason grinned, following Tim's gaze to the bottle of Jim Bean they'd just been drinking from. He shook his head. "Well then Mr. I-chose-the-most-obvious-fake-name-ever, if getting on that stage is your aim, I'd catch Tess early. She gets grumpy once her ex brings up business."

 

"Noted." Tim smiled back and paused before moving away. "And thanks."

 

* * *

 

 

As he opened the backstage door Tim's eyes watered and he calculated the possibility that he may have walked into a trap. As his feet took him up the heavy iron steps the door had lead to, the cause became abundantly clear. In stark contrast to his immediate concern that he may have walked into a raid involving tear gas, there was no lachrymatory agent rolling through the room, but a toxic cloud of hairspray, perfume and cigarette smoke hovering above it. How the dancers smoked in here without the room going up with the amount of chemicals in the atmosphere was a phenomenon that could fill hours with study.

  
He turned from the stairs, moving into the room and was faced with a pair of sequinned breasts pushed high enough to be uncomfortable and a raised eyebrow on the face above them. "Apologies, miss. He muttered moving out of the girls way and fighting down a blush. She ignored him in favour of moving down the stairs at a speed that he would have called a fall if not for her perfect and clearly practised landing. Straightening up from his position plastered to the wall, Tim realised that the girl far from the only person moving at speeds that would be dangerous to the untrained. The dressing room was buzzing with activity; everyone running about in varying stages of undress. People were sat at the dressing tables forming aisles in the room, leaning into mirrors and adding more chemicals to the air as they applied layers of make up and glitter to their already painted faces. Tim raised his own eyebrow at the sight; his eyes pulling away from the gaggle of girls to a tall, very handsome man who was fixing an eyelash that had fallen off in the previous number. "Why am I suddenly the relationship guru?" The man joked lifting a lipstick out of a brunette's hand who scowled and swatted him playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh shut up." She grinned, "You're the biggest romantic here!"

  
"I'm a romantic, Darling, that does not mean I have a successful relationship under my belt." He countered, somehow managing to apply lipstick while talking. "I personally feel that the romanticism is part of my charm, but so few agree." The man replied pouting in the mirror much to the girl's amusement. "At least I'm beautiful." He sighed, fluffing his wig. "I'm shallow, I can be contented with beautiful. I'm beautifully shallow that way. Or shallowly beautiful. Which is it, darling?"

  
"Both." She laughed, kissing the air above his cheek before giving him a shove. "Now move your ass out of my spot."

  
Smiling a little at the fond exchange and missing his friends more than he was willing to dwell on, Tim picked his way further into the room. A lifetime of stalking Gotham's rooftops and he'd never felt quite so alienated from the surroundings he observed as he did in this carefree room. A group of dancers had moved to the top of the stairs and seemed to be using the bannister to warm up. Lifting legs to places he could only have dreamt of before exposure and his gruelling torture at Dick's hands, passing a cigarette between them as they sang and chatted amongst themselves. Watching the girls smoke in their confining corsets he couldn't help but marvel that they actually had the lung capacity to dance for three solid minutes. Biologically he wasn't entirely certain that their lung capacity was actually obeying known laws of physics. Turning from the girls, Tim walked straight into the tail of a pink ostrich. Mentally pausing a moment, he reflected that it was possibly the solvent abuse just being in the room had caused beginning to have an effect. He shoved at the onslaught of feathers and they took a step back.

 

"Oh! Sorry." The overly romantic man was grinning at him through a cloud of feathers. Not an ostrich then. "Didn't see you there. New blood?"

 

"Um." Tim was admittedly at a loss, though given prior experience a pink boa was hardly the most outrageous costume he had been faced with. 

  
"Ooh." A hand whipped forward and tilted his face toward the light. "you have cheek bones to die for, Darling. And that jaw line." The man groaned in a way that made the blush rise again on his cheeks. "You must be very convincing. Bit of blusher and you'll have 'em eating out of your hand kid."

  
"My cheekbones?" Blinking Tim caught onto the man's insinuation and lost the battle against his blush, feeling his cheeks redden without the use of cosmetics. "Oh! I see." He paused, uncertain of the appropriate response. "Thank you?"

  
The man laughed and ruffled his hair. "Wow you are definitely new. You are just adorable." A bellow sounded up  the stairs and the man looked away. "Duty calls." He fluttered. "Don't go anywhere. I'll see you after my number."

  
Tim stood for a few brief moments. Generally following orders came naturally to him, but Gotham may have been a danger to his physical safety, but his apparent new friend had a definite air of mischief about him that lead Tim to wonder whether his sanity would survive the association. The scene around him quickly caught his attention and he found himself lost in the glitter, feathers and gemstones. The performers all jostled around each other, laughing and joking. These glittering, sequinned bodies behaved more like a family then any of those that had called the Batcave home ever had. Not that Tim wanted the Waynes to hold any resemblance to those in the room; Bruce would look terrible in sequins. Tim shook himself out of that train of thought and away from thoughts of family. He had lady to find and a job to earn.

Scanning the room for anyone who looked remotely as though they could be in charge Tim's gaze fell on to a bald, middle aged man with glasses. He had a mouthful of hairpins and was working to fix one of the girls hair with well practised precision. "Argh!" The hairpins spilled from his mouth and the can in his hand released a sparkling cloud into the corner of the room. "I tried to kill a spider with glitter spray but now it's just staring at me, sparkling!" The girl he was working on rolled her eyes and leant down to pick up the pins. 

 

"It's a spider, Sean." She replied. "It's not going to kill you."

  
Tim smiled as he bent to help pick up the pins.

  
"What?" The man accepted the pins with an exasperated sigh.

  
"I'm looking for Tess?" Tim offered.

  
Rolling his eyes the man nodded towards a dark hair woman fixing her make up at a dressing table in the corner. Nodding his thanks Tim made his way over and ducked down to look at the woman, well he thought she was a woman, in the mirror and smiled nervously. "Tess?"

 

Tess paused in applying her lipstick and looked up at his reflection in barely concealed irritation. "And your in my mirror because?"

 

Standing back Drake's eyes widened at his faux pas. "Oh, my apologies." He blinked and took a step back. "I want to dance."

  
"Uh huh and where did you train?" Lex Luthor had shown more interest in their last conversation than Tess was right now.

  
"At home." Tim mentally grimaced. She was already showing doubt, was that seriously that the best he could come up with? The look of disbelief prompted him to continue and his mind raced for an answer. He really ought to have thought this through a little more. What had possessed him to reach for a job he was wholly unqualified for without researching the experience he ought to have gained? "In the lounge." He added. He winced. Bruce would be ashamed of him. Not that he cared what Bruce thought. "I can move though." He assured her. "I can really move." Sighing Tim closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. Well, that could have gone a million times better.

 

"Don't sweat it kid." The drag queen from earlier was smiling down at him when he opened his eyes. "Stamp your feet and don't go away, plague her. It's how I got the gig." Before he could open his mouth to reply though he was being dragged over to one of the mirrors. "Come, sit, I want to play."

 

"Play?" Cocking an eyebrow Tim watched the man busy himself in the largest make up bag he'd ever seen. Wanting to play in his world normally meant beating someone to the ground.

  
"It's Ryan by the way, or Rita whatever."

  
Humming Tim watched Ryan dig out a concealer palette and begin to fix his make up again. Although it didn't take much effort to notice that he was trying to cover up a black eye. Badly.

  
Ryan turned back toward him and shook a brush in his direction. "Close your eyes..." He paused, eyebrow raised.

 

"Tim." He answered, gaze lingering on the poorly hidden bruise.

 

"Well then. Close your eyes Tim." He did as instructed, nervous at a complete stranger being so intimately within his space. Fingers rubbed across his face, spreading what felt like a gel. Then a brush followed, the strokes covering his face evenly. Ryan dabbed a powder across his eyes and Tim began to zone out as Ryan gently moved his face where needed. "You are gorgeous, Darling. I would adore the time to do this properly. We must set up a make-up date!"

  
"Make up date?" Tim's eyelashes fluttered open as he replied.

  
"Hush." Ryan scolded. "Don't move or you'll ruin it."

  
Fighting the urge to nod Tim fell silent. A brush dabbed at his lips, smearing something sticky across them.

  
"There. Let's look at those eyes again."

  
Frowning Tim glanced back up at Ryan, confused at his quickly developed fondness for him. Instant friendship was a new and uncomfortable concept.

  
"Oh my." Ryan smacked his lips and flicked his eyes over Tim's face. "Well lube me up and take me to bed, Darling. You are simply beautiful." Tim blushed and Ryan grinned at his discomfort. "Now. With those baby blues? Blonde. You're definitely a blonde."

 

"Blonde? Blonde what?" Tim baulked, blinking and trying to turn to the mirror.

 

"Stay still!" Ryan hissed, calling over his shoulder for someone to bring his case. A red head kicked over a humongous black case with stickers of various metal bands covering it. Tim had expected it to be pink. Mentally chastising himself for stereotyping he forced a smile as if he knew what was happening and watched carefully to see what would emerge from the case. Clicking the case open, Ryan pulled out a platinum blonde wig, pre-styled with loose curls that would fall to mid-back. "This will make those eyes of yours pop right out."

 

"Really?" Tim eyed the wig suspiciously as his own ebony locks were pinned out of the way and the wig fixed firmly on his head.

 

Pulling back Ryan smiled and nodded to the mirror. "Next time you want to proposition Tess? Make sure you look like that, but with heels."

 

Tim gawked at the blonde woman that was gaping back to him. Unbidden his hand reached out to touch the reflection. That wasn't him. It looked so unlike him it was somewhat comforting. There would be no looking in the mirror only to see a poor copy of Bruce when he looked like this. The woman in the mirror looked completely different to him. Strong, confident, at peace with the world and ready to take on anything to get what she wanted. The woman looked like the person ]Tim had tried to desperately to be all these years. "Oh." He said softly, tracing his features in the mirror.

 

Ryan snapped him out of his fascinated gaze with a very masculine laugh. "You like it kid?"

  
Smiling Tim turned back to his new friend and shrugged. Nothing came free in any world and he needed to repay him. His eyes fell to Ryan's face. To the black eye already starting to reappear beneath the layers of make up. "Thank you Ryan." He smiled softly. "This?" He gestured at his face. "Completely new. But that?" He pointed at Ryan's eye. "I hope you don't mind but, I couldn't help but notice. That I know how to cover up?"

 

Ryan looked away, clearly uncomfortable. He turned to look in the mirror and gave a weak smile. "If you can make that monstrosity go away I will love you forever babycakes."

  
Tim smiled and reached for the large make up bag. The man who had seemed so happy and carefree prodded his eye in the mirror,crestfallen. Tim did not like the expression on Ryan's face. "Take off all the make-up around the bruise." He instructed.

  
Ryan frowned and paused for a moment, before he grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned the area under his eye. A glorious mess of purple and blue emerged. It was fresh, maybe only 24 hours old if that. Tim pursed his lips, but kept silent and fished in the bag for the concealer palette.

  
"I fell over in the shower. Such a clutz me." Ryan murmured, not moving his gaze from the floor.

  
"No you didn't." Tim never was one to mince his words in situations like this. "The bruising would be higher up. A fist did that." Just because he had left his old life, did not mean he had forgotten all he knew.

  
Ryan chuckled, dark and bitter. "Sounds like you know your black eyes then, Darling?"

  
"I do." Tim replied, blending concealer around the eye as he nudged Ryan's chin toward the light of the dressing table. "Look up."

  
"Is that, violet?" Ryan asked, glancing down at the bright powder on the brush in horror.

  
"It washes out the blue. Now look up."

  
Obediently Ryan watched Tim as he set about covering the black eye, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

  
"You've done this before."

  
It was a statement not a question. Tim knew that but chose to not answer straight away. Instead dug out foundation and squirted some on his hand.  
"A few times yeah." Tim smiled knowingly, reaching for the palette again he finished off his work with a few dabs beneath his friends eye before sealing with powder and clucking his tongue in satisfaction. "There. Should stay put for the rest of your show."

 

Looking in the mirror Ryan smiled and leaned over to gift Tim with an air kiss over his cheek. "Thank you, Darling." He lifted his hand to his eye again as he marvelled Tim's work in astonishment.

 

"No problem." Tim smiled. He caught sight of Tess who was storming away from a middle aged gentleman with a look of fury on her face. "I'd better get going. Thank you, for the wig and make-up."

  
Laughing Ryan waved Tim away his smile growing even wider. "If she's on the rampage you're safer downstairs. And that old thing? It never suited me. You just saved my bacon." Pausing Ryan worried his lip before looking up at Drake through the mirror. "Got jumped last night on the way home. New modern age where gay marriage is legal and a guy still can't walk to his apartment at night."

  
"The world is full of shit. Did you report it?"

  
"Is there any point?" Shaking his head Ryan's smile faltered a little and he stood. "What do you think? See you tomorrow night yeah? Seriously though, bring heels."

  
Tim nodded at his new found friend and turned toward the stairs before pausing. "Oh and Ryan? If you see those guys again? Let me know and I'll see to it they are not in a position to commit a crime again. In or out of my heels." He shot Ryan a winning smile as he left the bemused looking drag queen and pushed through the door and into the main bar.

  
Maybe tonight hadn't been a total bust.

 

* * *

 

                                          

If you had asked him before he walked back out onto the floor, Tim would never have though he would have said that the smoky atmosphere of a nightclub would seem like fresh air, but after breaking in the aerosol soaked back stage he was revelling in the comparatively easy breaths he was taking. He studied the front of house debating his next move.

  
Ryan had said to come back tomorrow, to keep coming until he wore Tess down or caught her on an ex free night. For the first time that was not an option. He had spent his last $20 at the door and if he walked out of here without a job he wasn't eating tomorrow. Even if he had the money, knowing Harper he would probably charge him $50 tomorrow night just for sheer amusement.

  
A commotion caught his eye. An impatient customer waved at Kori while she was stood flirting with a group by the stage. Kori had spotted the motion and was steadfastly ignoring the increasingly irate man. "Excuse me?" He bellowed, completely lacking in subtlety or respect.

  
"In a minute!" She scowled, shouting back. He caught a few customers shaking their heads at both. 

  
Tim wondered how the girl had managed to hold down a job. Her employment bewildered him entirely. The whole point of being undercover was to keep your head down and do the job sufficiently well as possible to blend in. Then again, Tim mused, casting a look to Roy who was tinkering with what were quite obviously arrows even from Tim's viewpoint at the other side of the room, this was Jason and his merry band of reprobates; it was a wonder the place hadn't exploded yet. Jason had not been wrong regarding the fact that Kori rather stood out and anyone who paid the slightest bit off attention to the world new must have noticed her presence. Yet somehow the outlaws still thought they could work an undercover case.

  
Jason was wiping down the bar again, apparently enjoying watching the current performance on the stage. Following his gaze to the stage Tim's smile grew when he saw Ryan shimmy on from stage left as if he owned the place. With the long gold sequinned number he wore Tim really couldn't argue that he belonged up there. If he hadn't met Tess he could have mistaken that command of the stage for ownership with ease.

  
The customer Kori was steadfastly ignoring was getting ready to leave. Casting another glance at Ryan who had just began to perform an opportunity presented itself. He could not leave this place without a job, if Tess wouldn't let im dance then he'd wait tables until she would. It would not be the first time he had jumped through hoops to prove his worth. Shrugging off his jacket he tucked it in a dark corner by the stage and hoped no one would steal it. He unbuttoned his shirt two buttons past politeness and rolled up his sleeves. He picked up an abandoned tray and strutted over to the customer's table, putting Ryan's sway into his hips and his society smile onto his face.

 

"Want can I get you, Handsome?" He took a mental note of the order and the empty glasses, and slid the tray across the bar in front of Jason.

 

"Tim?" His brother blinked and shook his head, flicking a interested glance over him.

  
Flashing him a grin, Tim placed his elbows on the bar and leant into Jason's space. "Shot of Patron, double whiskey, and you see the big tough guy over there in the bowler hat?" Tim whispered into his ear. "He wants a Cosmo."

  
"Uh huh," He muttered, sceptically. "Went well with Tess then?" Shaking his head Jason took a deep breath and prodded his little brother in the forehead. "What are you doing? And what the fuck are you wearing?"

  
"I'm your new waitress." Nodding towards Kori who was still flirting with the men by the stage, "I'm pretty sure I've already taken more orders so don't say you don't need me. "Tim pouted, looked up through his coated lashes, and twirled a lock of blonde hair between his fingers. "As for your second question? This is my new look. Don't you like it?"

  
Jason flicked a look over at Kori and sighed, but didn't argue against needing a new waitress.

  
"Come on Jay, please? Let me work tonight and if I'm no good you can ditch me."

  
His tray was refilled and Jason gave him a lopsided smile. "Who dolled you up?"

  
Taking the drinks Tim shrugged nonchalantly. "Ryan."

 

 Jason shook his head. "Should have guessed." He and Ryan obviously knew each other. "And it's Rita when she's dolled up."

 

"Ryan when a guy, Rita when a girl." Tim confirmed. "By the way?" He nodded toward the entrance. "Heads up, Roy's building arrows in the booth."

  
Jason groaned and rested his head against the bar. "Are they explosive?"

  
"I don't think so?"

  
He let out a huff of relief and waved his brother away. "If they're not going to explode then it's as good as we'll get. Run along and do your job then kid."

  
Tim was yet to find a job he could not pick up. He darted between the tables, flamboyant with a blond wig swinging behind. When he had a moment he would imitate a dance step. At least twice he caught Jason laughing at him.

  
Four sets after Rita had disappeared backstage, Tim returned to the bar with his order of drinks to find Roy blatantly ignoring Jason's demands he return to the booth. He placed his order and ignored the blatant gob-smacked looks Roy was sending his way.

 

"Tim's a chick." Roy muttered to himself, utterly lacking in tact. "Jay? Jaybird?" He knelt on the barstool to lean over the bar. "You can see this, your brother's a chick, right?"

  
"Funny thing, but I had noticed Harper. Believe it or not."

  
"Is Tim going up on the stage then? He's helping us?" Roy questioned looking back at Tim.

 

He nodded. "If you've something for me to help with, I'm happy to contribute." And pathetically grateful for the opportunity to be part of a case.

  
"No." Jason insisted putting the ordered drinks on Tim's tray.

 

"You know I can help." Tim sighed. "It would be nice."

  
A paper napkin and a pen was pushed in his direction. "Write your email and I'll send the files over to you." Roy offered with a smile, ignoring Jason's scowl.

  
Tim pursed his lips and looked at the napkin sadly before jotting down his new phone number instead. " Drop me a text and I'll collect a hard copy. I don't have access to a laptop at the moment."

 

Roy picked up the napkin with a shrug. "Easy either way for me kid." He flicked his gaze over Tim's clothes. "You can't work in that, Timmy. You'll never get any tips. Kori'll drag you round the shops tomorrow afternoon."

 

Tim smiled, relieved. It was probably best not to ask why Roy was offering advice, and definitely best not to dwell on the prospect of shopping with Kori if he valued his mental health.

  
The towel in Jason's hand flicked lightly against Tim's shoulder, and he turned to look up at his brother. The look of concern was unfamiliar, but seeing a sibling who was actually worried about him made for a present change. "You have no money and no laptop? What the fuck is up with you Tim?"

 

"Dick is a dick. And the laptop was Bruce's." Tim hunched his shoulders defensively until he noticed his position and straightened, collected his tray and strode back out onto the floor.

 

His answer clearly was not enough to satisfy Jason who called after him. "Tim you get back here and tell me what's going on or I swear to God-"

 

"Public place Jay." Tim warned before smiling sweetly over his shoulder. "And it's hard to feel threatened by a guy wearing a bowler hat and more eye-liner than me."

 

Jason's jaw dropped and he scowled. "Mouthy little shit. " He muttered.

 

Roy laughed. "I think he'll make a great asset to the team, Jaybird. Good call."

  
"Get back to your fucking booth Harper, or I'm telling Tess you're letting people in for free!" Roy slouched off and Jay frowned after Tim. The thought of the techonogeek not having access to a laptop was odd. Worrying even. But kid could rock a wig with the best of them, he'd give him that at least.

 

 


End file.
